


A Keenness That Stings

by replicasex



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Discussions of abuse, Kate is so damn evil, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Seriously this is painful, Sexual Dysfunction, mention of underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/replicasex/pseuds/replicasex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek won't fuck Stiles.  Stiles confronts him about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Keenness That Stings

**Author's Note:**

> This will mention seriously bad levels of past abuse done to Derek by Kate Argent. If that's something that upsets you, please avoid this story.

It’s been six weeks since Derek kissed him. Six weeks since Stiles accepted he might not be as straight as he thought, that his life may not end happily ever after married to Lydia Martin. Six weeks since he crowded inside of Derek’s bubble and clung, bleeding and tired and terribly happy. Six weeks.

It’s been uncomplicated. Uncomplicated in a way that frightens him, the simple happiness. He hides it from his father, but even that isn’t enough to dampen his happiness. Derek kisses him, and he kisses back, and it’s enough. Derek looks at his lips now, even in front of the rest of the pack, can’t help it. The rest of them are always rolling their eyes.

It’s been six weeks and they haven’t fucked yet. No, that’s not right. There’s been a lot of sex. Stiles has been thoroughly fucked, just not literally. The sex is great. Derek growls and bites and rubs their cocks together till they both come. And then Derek sucks another out of him. Derek rubs his come into Stiles’ chest and whines when Stiles showers. Stiles has had so many facials he may as well stop buying moisturizer. Scott holds his nose when they’ve just had a quickie.

No, the sex is fantastic. But they haven’t fucked. Derek hasn’t fucked him and Stiles hasn’t fucked Derek. It isn’t a thing, at least a thing they talk about. There’s just no penetration. No penetrato. Non penetratio. Whatever. Stiles hasn’t asked and Derek hasn’t offered. He opened his legs once, wide open, while Derek was grinding his cock against his own. Derek just shifted forwards and rubbed one out over his thighs. Stiles stopped trying after that.

He’s at the Hale house. It still looks like shit, but it has a roof and four walls and Stiles doesn’t ask for more. Derek even has a bed, a plain mattress on the floor. It’s sunny outside and the forest smells fresh and Stiles will never, ever be able to shut his mouth.

“Why don’t you fuck me?” He blurts. Derek is hunched over a table, sawing wood for a table. He freezes, a stiffening back.

“What.” Derek says and it isn’t a question.

“I - .” Stiles sputters, because he’s actually in shock that he’d say something this stupid. “I just -- you don’t fuck me. And that’s, like, okay, but we never even --.”

“If you aren’t happy then you can get it somewhere else.” Derek snarls, and whoa, it’s been awhile since Derek snarled at him. Derek’s eyes are bleeding red and he looks angry enough to scare Stiles.

He isn’t going to back down; he’s already thrown himself down the well.

“I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy that my boyfriend won’t even talk about having sex with me.” Stiles’ voice is rough and he feels rough enough to match.

“We _do_ have sex!” Derek roars. It rattles the windows.

“Why don’t you fuck me? You do everything else.” Stiles’ voice is quiet, defeated.

Derek snarls. He breaks the table he was making. The wood falls to the ground with a clatter. Derek’s breathing hard and his claws are out.

“Derek --” Stiles starts again, but Derek’s head knifes to the left, fangs burning in his gums.

“Get out.” Derek says, right to his face. His back is rigid and he’s looking right at Stiles. Yeah. Stiles gets it. He leaves, trailing pine needles in his wake. The day is sunny and bright.

 

~*~

Stiles trudges up the stairs to his room. He isn’t slow. He doesn’t even look morose. He’s gotten good at that kind of thing. He doesn’t think about it. Plugs himself into his computer. Stiles has always been good at Starcraft. Good at the whole picture. Not so great at micromanagement. But still. He’s Diamond.

When the window opens, hours later, Stiles is still playing. His laptop is hot and he’s probably pushing it but Stiles doesn’t even flinch as the window closes. He’s Zerg and he’s throwing every baneling he has at this cheap Russian fuck. Derek sits on his bed. Stiles can feel him, body cutting air.

He loses the game. The marine loving bastard hid a factory in the corner of the map and Stiles is unprepared for siege tanks. The Russian flames him before he leaves and Stiles is very, very tired.

He shuts his laptop. Unplugs his earbuds. Twists the chair around, screeching wood against wood. Just for spite. Derek’s hands are clasped together. He’s staring at them.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, a little too loud. His ears are ringing. Derek’s hands tighten. Stiles stands up, his legs a little wobbly.

“Stiles.” Derek starts. He’s not looking at him, eyes cast downward. His jacket is wet and it’s dripping onto the floor. The zipper gleams. “I’m bad at this.” Derek says finally, unclasping his hands and drying them on Stiles’ comforter.

“Yes.” Stiles has learned to be straightforward. “You are.”

“I snapped. It wasn’t --” Stiles is still waiting. “It wasn’t anything you said or did. It wasn’t -- it wasn’t you, Stiles”

It’s a bullshit explanation but Stiles can’t help but feel a thin thread of relief. He’s been hounded by failure, not being good enough. Stiles is self-aware enough to know he has self-esteem issues. He deals. He knows he’s too eager, too greedy for the love of people around him. Greedier than Derek is, and he’s a werewolf. He’s learned to cling tighter. To close his fist and _refuse_ to lose another person he loves.

“I want you to tell me.” Stiles says, because he does. He wants to know. To swallow it all up and _know_.

“I don’t -- I haven’t since, since -- then.” Stiles feels a thrill of horror.

“Her?” Stiles knows. Derek didn’t share but he knows. His dad’s a cop and he’s read all the books he needs to recognize sexual abuse. He did the math. Derek’s eyes widen, then flash red. He’s not looking at Stiles.

“Yeah.” And Derek’s voice is a broken, ruined thing.

“You like - you, the other things. You like it, right? You’re not -- you’re not.” Stiles would shout if his father weren’t there. All of that happiness, all of it, swallowed up in smoke and ash. But Derek nods. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to. He nods again. Stiles slumps backwards against the chair. “It’s - specifically, it’s just that?” Stiles is so fucking bad at this.

“Yeah. I don’t -- it’s the last thing I did, with her. I felt. I --” Derek is shivering. He looks at Stiles. “When I was -- back then, I didn’t. I didn’t like my family.” His voice is harsh and ragged. “We were werewolves and we didn’t -- I didn’t get to do anything. It’s -- I wanted a lot, back then. My dad was.” Derek shuts his eyes. “He was Alpha. He was -- not bad, just controlling. We didn’t go out much.

"Most of the town thought we were crazy and he was fine with that. I hated it.” His voice is swelling with pain now, like a wound, a sore. “I hated them, I did. I thought. I thought I’d get away.”

Stiles wishes Derek would cry.

“She -- she said we could get away, together. Said she hated her life, her dad. He was -- he sounded a lot like mine.”

It’s worse that Derek laughs.

“I was so fucking stupid. Said she wanted.” A breath shudders through him. “A family. She -- she let me, without a condom. A kid. I thought we could run away.”

It’s the most Stiles has ever heard about Derek’s family.

He feels, suddenly, a hot pain in his chest, a joy at Kate’s death. He doesn’t examine it.

And this is -- big. It’s big. And yeah, Stiles went into this knowing there'd be problems. Derek’s not the most stable person. Neither is Stiles, if he’s honest with himself. Which he never is.

He wonders if he should apologize. But he’s gotten to know Derek. Apologies make great excuses for self-loathing. Stiles would know.

“I didn’t know.” And is there anything more he can really say? “I didn’t.”

“Yeah.” Derek says. “Yeah. I tried, once, in New York. And I couldn’t, I _couldn’t_.” Derek exhales. Stiles sits next to him. They don’t touch.

It strikes Stiles then, the extent Kate Argent has influenced Derek’s life. How much of it she’s tainted.

“She can’t have you.” Stiles’ voice is suddenly fierce, whispered and hoarse. “She doesn’t. Look at me.” And Derek does.

“She can’t.” And because Derek is a werewolf and some stereotypes are true, he adds, “You’re mine.” Stiles is looking him in the eyes. Derek’s soften a little.

“Yeah.” Derek says. And it’s true. It’s true.


End file.
